


Sanguine

by mahbecks



Series: Becks' Gladnis Week 2017 [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Battle wounds, Day 6, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Feels, Gladnis Week, M/M, Mentioned Injury, Romance, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 15:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12962472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahbecks/pseuds/mahbecks
Summary: Gladio is grievously injured in a fight with some daemons.Ignis is terrified he's going to lose him.*A story for Gladnis Week 2017, Day Six - "Battle Wounds"





	Sanguine

**Author's Note:**

> A little sadder, a little more angsty with this one :o 
> 
> Warning: Mentioned injuries, references to blood/wounds. Nothing too graphic, hence the T+ rating, but it is there.

“Oh, gods. What do we do, Ignis? There’s so much blood, I can’t-“

“Prompto!” Ignis’ voice was sharp, cutting through his friend’s panicked ramblings. “Go into the bedroom and look for the black box in the dresser. It should be in the top drawer. There’s several potions in there.”

“You have some?” Prompto asked, incredulous. “Really?”

“For emergencies,” Ignis replied, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “For... times like this.”

He hated to admit it. But it was the truth, and much as it terrified him to know that Gladio had been on the receiving end of such an extensive wound, he saw no point in denying it.

Prompto’s footsteps were sharp and staccato as he ran down the hall, his movements quick and hurried as he threw the door open and started rummaging around for the potions Ignis had mentioned. Ignis tried not to focus on that, trying to keep his attention fixed on Gladio, unconscious on their living room floor. Unconscious and bleeding _heavily_ on their living room floor.

How he wished that that he could see the wound. All he had to go by was the slickness of the blood on his hands, of the feel of the torn flesh beneath his fingers. It wasn’t very much to go off - but it was enough for him to tell that Gladio was in bad shape.

He raised a shaking hand, feeling once more for Gladio’s pulse at his neck. He’d checked several times in the past few minutes, frightened that each time he did it, there would be nothing there, no strong thrum of a pulse beneath his fingers. But no, it was there, just as it had been every time before - faint but steady, Gladio’s body fighting to survive even now.

“Hold on, Gladio,” he murmured, bringing the hand back down to press on the cloth he’d held to the wound. He put as much pressure on it as he dared, trying to stem the flow of blood without causing his lover too much pain.

“Got it!”

Prompto’s footsteps announced his return, and he dropped down the floor beside Ignis.

“Where do I…?”

“Here.” Ignis took a deep breath and removed the cloth, trying not gag at the cloying, metallic stench of blood filling his nostrils. “Use it directly over the wound.”

Prompto brushed his arm as he leaned forward; Ignis thought it might have been on purpose. A comforting gesture, meant to tell Ignis that it would be alright, that Gladio was strong, that he would get through this. A small thing, really, just a quick touch of a hand on his skin. He appreciated it nonetheless.

The potion’s clean, fresh smell filled the air, and from the vicinity of the floor, Gladio groaned.

“Hey, big guy,” Prompto said. “You awake?”

There was no response, and Ignis felt his heart shudder painfully in his chest.

“Prompto,” he said quickly, “Is he-?”

“It’s okay, Iggy. I think he’s just too exhausted to talk. He looks more comfortable, anyway, and he’s breathing easier.”

Ignis breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “And the wound?”

“Closing up as we speak,” Prompto replied.

Ignis barely felt his eyes clench shut, just as he barely felt the wetness threatening to spill down his face. “Thank goodness,” he murmured.

“It’s… gonna leave a scar though, Iggy,” Prompto added. “A real gnarly one.”

“Better scarred than dead.”

Prompto laughed weakly. “Yeah,” he said. “Definitely.” He set the empty potion bottle aside, the glass chinking as it hit the floor. “We should call Iris and Talcott - let them know he’s okay.”

“We should,” Ignis agreed. He lifted his hands to reach for his phone, but he quickly found they were still sticky with blood and thought better of it. “Perhaps you should be the one to call them.”

“Ah - right, right!”

“In the meantime, I’ll try to clean up a bit.”

The floor, his hands, Gladio’s stomach - he wanted to clean all of it, erasing the tang of blood and battle that hung in the air. It threatened to make him retch, but he fought back the bile in his throat, standing to his feet and making his way into the kitchen. This would not control him.

He wouldn’t let it.

Gladio had survived, Gladio had lived, Gladio was going to be just _fine._ There was no sense in getting so worked up about something that hadn’t happened.

And yet…

 _No,_ he told himself, shaking his head. _Don’t despair. Don’t you dare._

Stubbornly, he opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of dishrags, using the tap to wet one. He brought these back to where he knew Gladio lay on the floor, gingerly dragging it across his lover’s stomach and wiping at the blood he knew was there. Gladio gave no sign that he could sense Ignis’ ministrations. But his breathing had evened out some, and when Ignis checked his pulse once more, it was stronger than before.

His hands were shaking, badly - even worse than they had been before. It was a chore to clean the wound, and several times, he had to stop a take a deep breath, attempting to steady himself.

If he saw it, Prompto said nothing.

“Hey, buddy, Iris said they’re on their way,” he said suddenly, dropping to the floor beside Ignis. “They’re gonna bring some food, too.”

Ignis frowned. “Food?”

“You eaten at all today?”

He thought about it. They’d been awoken at dawn, a call from Cor alerting them to a pack of daemons attacking at Cape Caem. They were the closest, he’d said, and their help was sorely needed. They’d jumped out of bed, grabbed their things - and Prompto, asleep in the apartment next door - and then rushed to defend the lighthouse.

There hadn’t been time for food.

“Didn’t think so,” Prompto said, chuckling. “But don’t worry, Iris gets the good stuff. So hey, do you want me to help with anything? We should probably move him to the bed, right? So he’s not lying on the floor?”

“Yes, of course,” Ignis said. “Go and put down a layer of towels on the bed for me, in case his injury reopens. I’ll get rid of this mess.” He waved a hand, indicating the bandages and t-shirts soaked in blood.

“Sure thing, buddy.” Prompto rose, walking towards the hallway. It was there his footsteps stopped. “Hey, Iggy?”

Ignis paused. “Yes, Prompto?”

“Are you okay?”

No.

How could he be?

Gladio had very nearly just died in his arms, almost cut in half. Died, dead, gone forever, never to be his again in this world -

But he couldn’t tell Prompto that - not Prompto, who had already lost so much and who didn’t need to lose yet another friend to something like despair.

He put a smile on his face.

“I’m fine, Prompto. Thank you for asking.”

Prompto didn’t reply for a moment. Could he tell Ignis was lying through his teeth? Probably - Prompto was a lot more perceptive than people often gave him credit for being. But he also wasn’t terribly confrontational, and so he didn’t called Ignis out on this most egregious lie.

“‘Kay. I’ll go get the towels. They still in the hall closet?”

“Yes, the third shelf.”

“Got it.”

Ignis waited until he was gone to swallow down the lump in his throat, eyes burning. He gently laid his head against Gladio’s chest, ear turned towards the place where he knew his heart lay beneath his ribcage. The feel of Gladio’s pulse soothed him, grounded him even. He forced himself to listen to it for a long moment, closing his eyes against the tears still threatening to fall.

He would be fine.

Gladio would be fine.

They would weather this, as they had weathered every other hardship and injury in the past seven years of darkness. They would get through this. They would.

With a deep breath, he pushed himself up and started to get to work on removing the remnants of Gladio’s shirt.

* * * * *

Gladio woke up, his body feeling like a behemoth’s chew toy.

He groaned, finding a struggle just to open his eyes. Darkness met him, though that wasn’t really a surprise - it was always dark now. Still, he could tell he was inside a building, not lying on the ground outside, and the softness around him signified he was in a bed.

Was he home, then? Had Prompto and Ignis taken him back to Lestallum?

Ignis.

Was he okay? Had he been hurt in the fighting? 

He shifted, trying to sit up a little straighter, and was met with a stab of pain in his stomach. He winced, using a hand to feel for an injury. But there was none. No bandages, no medical tape - nothing. But... how? He _knew_ he’d been wounded in that fight; he remembered that much, at least. But his fingers couldn’t find a trace of a wound, only smooth, taut skin and hard muscle.

“Gladdy?”

He looked up, a light flicking on, to find Iris standing in the doorway.

“Hey,” he said, offering up a gentle smile.

“You’re awake,” she said, crossing the room in three swift steps and sitting down on the bed at his side. Her expression turned cross then, and she put a hand on his shoulder to push him back down. “You’re _moving._ ”

“Gotta move if I wanna get up,” he pointed out.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she retorted. “You’re injured.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not.”

“Iris, I swear, I’m okay,” Gladio protested, putting a hand on his sister’s arm. He tried to move it so that he could stand, but her grip was like a vice. She was strong now, he remembered, strong enough to offer more than token resistance. And maybe she was right about him being wounded, for he wasn’t able to move her hand. Not even a little bit. 

He had to laugh at that, his grip on her falling slack. 

Iris' face softened. “You’re not,” she said again, her voice soft.

He sighed, knowing a lost cause when he saw it, and sat back, squishing the pillows back so his torso was propped up a bit. “What happened?” he asked. “At Caem - I only remember fightin’ the daemons, with Prompto and Iggy." He swallowed, frowning. "Iggy's here, right? He's okay? He's-"

“Shhhh,” she said, smiling. “Iggy’s fine. He’s just asleep.” Her smile turned sad, then; he hated the sight of it. “He’s been worried sick over you, you know.”

“Fuck.”

Guilt wracked Gladio, even though he knew it wasn’t really his fault. Injury was the risk they all took, fighting in this world of darkness. They knew every battle could be their last. And he’d rather he take the injury than Ignis, or Prompto, or Iris, or - he was the Shield. He’d been raised for this, to protect other people and take the blows they couldn’t. In Noct’s absence, that duty had been transferred to his friends, and he’d be damned if they got injured and he walked away free of harm.

But still - he hated the thought that he’d caused Ignis any sort of worry. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Can I see him?”

Iris nodded. “I’ll go and get him,” she said.

“Thanks.”

She smiled, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m glad you’re okay, Gladdy,” she said. “We all are.” Her voice quivered a little bit, betraying the calm on her face, and she stood, leaving the room before he could say anything.

Gladio frowned. How bad had it been?

He looked down, the light letting him see the skin he’d only felt before. As he’d previously assessed, there wasn’t any sign of injury - no scabbing, no blood, nothing that indicated he’d been nearly cut in half. Instead, there was a shiny stripe of pink skin, neatly bisecting the scar he’d gotten in his fight with Gilgamesh. A new scar, one that had to have been fixed with the aid of a potion.

Shit.

He lay his head back, knocking the headboard. They only had a few potions left, carefully stored away in a box in Ignis’ dresser. If they’d had to use one of them on him…

He clenched one hand into a fist.

He’d had to do it. He’d _had_ to. The daemons had been swarming Prompto, and the kid had never been the best at close quarters combat, not when he was completely surrounded. Gladio remembered seeing Cor trying to get to him, cutting down enemies left and right, but the Marshal had been too far away, and Gladio had been right there -

He’d do it again. Gods help him, he would. For any of them, not just Prompto.

“Gladio.”

He looked up, and this time, it was Ignis standing in the doorway. His hair was mussed, pushed to the side from where he’d been asleep, and the lines of his pillowcase were imprinted on his face. But his voice was clear, soft and hopeful, and Gladio wanted nothing more than to pull him in tight and hold him close.

“Hey,” he said.

Ignis walked slowly, his back stiff - almost as if he were trying to restrain himself from moving too quickly. He perched awkwardly on the side of the bed, one hand tentatively seeking out Gladio’s hand. Gladio met his questing fingers, twining their hands together and squeezing once. Ignis exhaled sharply, gripping back just as tight, the other hand coming up to curve around Gladio’s neck, fingers settling on his pulse.

Checking on him.

“I’m alright, Iggy,” he murmured. “I’m right here.”

“I know.” The hand moved up to his cheek, thumb settling on the bone. He held it there for a moment, saying nothing, and then let it drift further down, past Gladio’s neck, past his chest, landing on the flat plane of his stomach, just atop the new scar etched into his skin. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better,” Gladio admitted. “But not too bad.” His breathed hitched when Ignis began to trace the line of the injury with a finger. “How long was I out?”

“Two days,” Ignis murmured.

“Shit.”

“Yes,” Ignis agreed. “Though after we stabilized you, that first night, we figured it best to allow you to rest. There was…” He broke off, clearing his throat. “There was quite a bit of blood. I fear your body needed time to replenish it.”

Gladio grabbed the hand on his stomach, bringing it back up to his face. “Couple more days, and I’ll be good as new,” he said, trying to reassure Ignis.

“I hope so.”

Gladio frowned. “You hope?”

“It was… a grave injury, Gladio. Had we not had that potion…”

Gladio turned, pressing a kiss to Ignis’ palm. “But we did have it,” he said. “I’m okay, Iggy. This isn’t serious.”

“Isn’t serious?” Ignis repeated, voice raising. “Gladio, don’t you have understand? You could have-”

“But I _didn’t,_ ” Gladio said firmly. Ignis wilted in his arms, shaking his head, shoulders slumping forward. “I didn’t, Iggy. I’m still here.”

“This time.”

He couldn’t deny it. He didn’t try. Instead, he finishing pulling Ignis down to his chest, making sure to position his lover so that his body wasn’t pressing on the injury. Ignis was pliant in his arms, curving around Gladio and pushing his face into his neck. He breathed in deep, lips pressed to Gladio’s throat, murmuring something Gladio couldn’t hear into his skin.

"I had to do it, Iggy," he murmured. 

Ignis choked out a sob, muffling it in Gladio's skin. "I know," he breathed. "But-"

"Shhhh." He fisted a hand in Ignis' hair, settling it on the nape of his neck, rubbing. "It's okay." 

For a while, Gladio just held him there, relishing the contact and closeness. They both needed it, he figured - even if, he was sure, he smelled like a inside of a locker room. They needed the touch, the comfort of each other’s presence, the feel of warm skin and muscle and bone beneath their hands.

Ignis drew away first, smoothing a hand over Gladio’s hair.

“Prompto is fine,” he murmured. “As are Cor and the others.”

Gladio nodded, relieved. That had been his first question. “Good.”

“If you haven’t guessed, you’re back in Lestallum. The Marshal’s said you’re to take the rest of the week off, at least.”

“Think I can talk him out of it?”

“Possibly. I think not.”

“Could I talk _you_ out of it?”

“Absolutely not.”

Gladio chuckled. “Didn’t think so.”

“I don’t even want you out of this bed until tomorrow.”

Gladio wrinkled his nose. “Not even to shower?” he asked. He sniffed pointedly. “Even I can tell I stink, Iggy.”

“...alright, perhaps a bath.”

Gladio laughed again.

“But not now, Gladio. You need to rest.”

His body seemed to agree with that assessment, eyelids already heavy even though he’d only been awake for a few minutes. He fought it, not wanting to drift off into unconsciousness just yet.

It was a losing battle, his thoughts going hazy.

“Stay with me?” he asked, reaching for Ignis as his eyes finally slipped closed.

A warm hand smoothed over his forehead, and a pair of lips pressed at his temples.

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :) 
> 
> As always, feedback is much appreciated if you wish to give any :)


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